


All I Have

by CatherineKat



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Child Abuse, Escape, F/F, F/M, Gen, Harlots Fandom Week 2020, Harlots Week, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Missing Scene Monday, Nancy and Margaret deserved better than this but there you go, Origin Story, Prostitution, all the grim stuff you could reasonably expect in a harlots origin fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:08:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26697271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatherineKat/pseuds/CatherineKat
Summary: Nancy was picked out by Mrs. Quigley from the workhouse and Margaret was sold to her for a pair of shoes. Somewhere between those inauspicious beginnings and the first time we meet them, they became the women who had Lydia Quigley arrested for kidnapping and started their own brothels. Starting from Nancy's first night at Quigley's, this is my take on that story.
Relationships: Nancy Birch/Margaret Wells, Nathaniel Lennox/Margaret Wells
Comments: 10
Kudos: 9
Collections: Harlots Week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is being uploaded as part of the 2020 Harlots fandom week (missing scene Monday) but I'm aiming to update once a week and there should be about fifteen chapters.

If you don’t have a last name you can pick one. It’s about the only positive there is in being in the workhouse. It’s not a place of positives. It’s a place of survival on a knife edge, a place where only the fact that you aren’t in a coffin reminds you that you aren’t dead. That and the deep, unending ache in your bones from the constant, pointless work. It doesn't matter what you pick, of course, because in the workhouse you are worth nothing. Less than nothing.

So when the powdered woman in the ridiculous wig picked Nancy out of a line of all the girls in Ward Two, a spark of hope lit within her. Hope was entirely new to her. That’s a sad statement for a twelve year old, but as Mrs. Quigley led her back through the stinking, crowded, baffling streets, she dared to hope there might be happier days ahead.

Those hopes didn’t last more than two steps inside the creaking, pink-painted front door. Surprisingly bony fingers grasped her wrist, yanked her up the stairs and past rooms from which she could hear grunts and groans, cries, and gasps. Even at twelve Nancy wasn’t that naive, so when Mrs. Quigley told her to strip and stalked around her in a slow circuit, rolling hard eyes at her skinny frame shivering in the cold attic, Nancy let those brief moments of hope go. She knew what she was there for.

Frankly, the madam could have picked better, in her opinion. Bethan had tits up to her chin and even dozy Sarah had legs that made the warden stare. Of the girls in her dormitory, she’d have said she was the least likely to make a good harlot. Mostly sticking out bones and tight muscles, there was little softness to her body at all, nothing that would bring a gentleman pleasure from what little she knew of them. But Mrs. Quigley nodded once, sharply.

“We’ll have to train you,” she said thoughtfully, then threw a wooden brush at Nancy’s aching head and snapped “and for god’s sake, sort out that hair”. She locked the door as she left, heels tapping on the splintered boards.

Nancy sat, heavily, on the edge of the bed frame and didn't cry. There really didn’t seem to be an awful lot of point in it. Mrs. Quigley had taken away the rough, grey workhouse dress so Nancy wrapped herself in a sheet and began the unhappy task of brushing her hair. There wasn’t any point stirring up strife if she didn’t need to.

After perhaps an hour had passed, an older girl with a dress that just about covered her chest and a spectacular black eye that seemed incongruous next to the neat twists of blonde hair unlocked the door. She handed Nancy a cup of tea in the most beautiful teacup she’d ever seen, blue and gold spirals covering the almost see through china, and unfolded a couple of gowns in insipid pastel colours.

“The mistress says I’m to see what I can do to make you look appealing”. She didn’t sound unsympathetic but she also didn’t have the face of a woman willing to argue and Nancy was cold so she decided it wasn’t a battle worth fighting.

The clothes were certainly softer and warmer than those she’d been used to, even if they weren’t what she’d have chosen for herself, and the girl, who introduced herself as Lizzie, was gentle as she laced Nancy up.

“I’m not working at the moment; Mrs. Quigley says the culls won’t want a girl who looks like she’s been brawling in a tavern like a fisherwife. That’s why I’m looking after you.” Lizzie said, watching Nancy try not to stare at the great purple-green bruise that spread down over her left cheek. Nancy blushed deep red at being caught, but Lizzie didn’t seem annoyed.

“You have to do as you’re told in this house, you understand? I was younger than you when I started and believe me, the men who like girls that young are not good people to cross.”

Nancy bit the side of her nail, silently nodding. The phrase ‘out of the frying pan and into the fire’ had been one of her grandmother’s favourites and it seemed to fit her situation particularly aptly. Shaking her head, Lizzie leant forward and pulled Nancy’s finger sharply out of her mouth. The skin caught at the edge of her tooth and Lizzie swore more ferociously than Nancy would have expected from someone so ladylike as blood beaded next to the nail.

“You can’t get that on your gown, understand? Anything and everything you wear, ruin, or need goes on your debt to Mrs. Quigley, and believe me, you want that to be as small as possible. And don’t bite your nails, she hates it. Says it’s unladylike.”

Nancy nodded again, still silent. Lizzie kept asking if she understood and she knew she was trying to be patient, if not exactly kind, but all Nancy understood is that that morning she’d been one thing and now she was another. Now she was a whore, or close enough to being one that the difference didn't really matter.

There wasn’t time to dwell on it. Her hair was swiftly, expertly, and not particularly gently pulled into a neat braid and pinned to the base of her skull and Lizzie looked at her critically before shrugging and ushering her out of the door.

“I don’t have any shoes.” Nancy’s toes were turning an interesting shade of blue but Lizzie shook her head.

“Mrs. Quigley will give you shoes once she thinks you’re not likely to run away. We’re her assets. She doesn't want to lose us when we could be making money for her.”

The building was like a rabbit warren and as she followed the older girl’s silk skirt through corridors and down stairs, past yet more bedrooms and closed doors, Nancy couldn’t imagine she’d ever know the house well enough to exploit any weaknesses and escape it. They arrived in a dining room which was the most beautiful place Nancy had ever seen but she was immediately distracted by Mrs. Quigley’s examination of her appearance. The woman said nothing about her change of clothes but instead listed off the names of the girls seated around a large wooden table with more food on it than Nancy had ever seen in one place.

“Lizzie, you’ve met, of course, then we have Grace, Georgiana, Anna and Cecily are twins, Susanna, Marianna, and my darling girl, Lotte. Smile, child, no one likes a whore with face-ache.”

As she took her place, right at the end of the table, Nancy observed her companions. Most of them looked to be in their late teens and early twenties, though Georgiana could have been closer to her own age. It was hard to tell: they were all dressed like little dolls, barely distinguishable from each other to Nancy’s tired, overwhelmed eyes. The girl closest to Mrs. Quigley was dressed more ornately and she wore a wig only a little smaller than the bawd’s own and her necklace hung on a golden chain, rather than the velvet ribbons the other girls had. Nancy correctly assumed this was Mrs. Quigley’s ‘darling girl’. She looked down the table and raised her eyebrows slowly.

“She doesn't look our usual sort, Madame?” Her voice was soft but right at the bottom there was a bitter edge to it.

“You’re going to train her, girls. The gentlemen like a change.”

Nancy could feel her face burning. The food in the workhouse wasn’t filling and the living was hard but for all of the beauty surrounding her, the comfort and trinkets, she couldn’t help wishing herself back there. No one regarded her with such judgement there, she wasn't tried and constantly found lacking. She wasn’t entirely sure what her ‘training’ would consist of but she was pretty certain it would involve more poking and prodding and sharp fingers grabbing at her.

She ate in silence, eyes firmly fixed on the table, and listened uncomprehendingly to the chatter at the table. Gratefully following Lizzie back upstairs, she was stopped by a hand on her waist and instructed to bob a curtsy to Mrs. Quigley. Lizzie pointed out the other girls' bedrooms, showed her back to the little attic and, having patted her lightly on the shoulder, took the candle and locked the door.

Finally completely alone, Nancy’s lip quivered. She pulled the wool blanket off her bed and wrapped it around her, chilly in just her shift, having flung the tight, frilly dress off as soon the door clicked behind Lizzie. It had never occurred to her that she might have to sleep alone. The others in the ward would be settling down, two to a bed for warmth and comfort and she was all alone. Not quite able to face the bed and all it represented, she curled up on the bare boards under the high, barred window, wound her ring’s grubby string through her fingers and let the tears fall softly until the exhaustion of the day overtook her and she slipped into an uneasy sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Nancy woke not more than a couple of hours later, to the sound of her door being quietly unlocked. Heart in her mouth, she huddled even closer to the wall and tried not to make a sound. Outside she could hear low voices and a child crying. Her mind jumped from one idea to another faster than she could process them, but the overwhelming thought was danger. Was this to be when her training began? Was someone coming to grab her, to use her?

It couldn’t have been more than a second before the door creaked open, but Nancy had already worked herself into a terror stronger than any she’d ever felt. Eyes tight shut, she prepared to kick and bite, however unlikely it was to help. She heard two pairs of feet walk into the room and then a sigh as something heavy was placed on the bed.

“Where is the dratted child, Lizzie?” Mrs Quigley’s voice was less refined than at dinner, as though she’d dropped a persona. Nancy could hear Lizzie’s lighter steps coming towards her and she risked opening one eye.

In the light of a candle, she could see Lizzie in her nightgown, searching along the walls for her. When she reached Nancy’s little nest, she shook her shoulder gently and helped her to her feet. The thing Nancy had heard being put on the bed was a small girl. She was dressed even more poorly than Nancy had been on her arrival and had the look of someone who hadn’t eaten a good meal in months. Other than that, it was hard to tell, partly because the only light was the single, guttering candle and partly because she was utterly filthy. 

“This is Margaret, Nancy.” Lizzie gestured to the girl, who was squinting to try and make out Nancy in the darkness. Mrs Quigley scoffed, as though she hadn't considered that one would need to introduce two guttersnipes. 

“You’ll wash in the morning, girl. Leave them, Lizzie.” She swept out of the room, Lizzie trailing in her wake, and darkness fell again as the little light vanished behind the locked door. 

Nancy didn’t know what to do. She hadn’t wanted to be alone but to be abandoned with a complete stranger, in a bawdy house, in the middle of the night, was more than a little daunting. She took a breath and remembered that the only blanket was wrapped around her shoulders.

“You cold?” Even with the blanket, Nancy was chilly and it hadn’t looked like the clothes the girl was wearing could possibly be keeping her warm. She moved a little closer to the bed, which seemed less daunting with another child in it. 

“Yes.” She could only just make out the word, but it sounded like Margaret was sobbing. Walking towards the bed, she swore quietly as her toe made contact with the sturdy wooden post. Wincing, she climbed onto the mattress and her hand brushed the other girl’s arm. It was so cold she gasped and immediately pulled the blanket over the pair of them. 

“We can share, if you like. My name’s Nancy.” There was a silence and then the little figure turned over, so that if there were any light they’d have been able to see each other’s faces. She was much smaller than Nancy and Nancy wasn’t big for her age. 

The pillow was wet, as though Margaret had been crying a lot, and she reached out a hand, groping about in the darkness until she found Margaret’s own and held it. The room was less scary with another person’s breathing in it and she felt like she should try to comfort her. 

“My Ma left me with her. I thought we were just going to find dinner and she said to wait and she went into the room and then she didn’t come back. She didn’t come back for me!” Margaret’s voice rose and Nancy hastily shushed her. She wasn’t sure what happened if you disturbed Mrs. Quigley but she wasn’t in a hurry to find out. Margaret was shaking, her whole body convulsing with the effort of crying silently and Nancy automatically gathered her closer. The bed was warmer with two people’s body heat and the little girl seemed to be less cold than before. 

“I know, I know, shh now, shhh Margaret,” Nancy whispered comforting nonsense into Margaret’s hair, as she’d done for the younger girls in the workhouse, holding her close to her chest and rocking slightly. 

“And no one calls me Margaret, I’m Maggie,” Her voice broke on the last word and Nancy softened further, both arms wrapped around Maggie. She wracked her brain desperately for ways to calm her. Her own worries had vanished from her mind as she put all her effort into comforting the other girl. A vague memory of her grandmother, in the years before the workhouse, singing to her little sister floated into the forefront of her brain and she took a deep breath. 

“Farewell and adieu to you fair spanish ladies…” She knew barely any of the words so mostly she was humming, but it didn’t seem to bother Maggie, who snuggled into Nancy’s shoulder and started to breathe more slowly. The scent of her hair was surprisingly pleasant, given how dirty she’d looked, and Nancy closed her eyes, exhaustion sweeping back over her as the adrenaline left her body. 

They were curled up together like kittens when Lizzie unlocked the door in the morning. She shook them awake and as they blinked in the morning light she ran them through the day’s plans. 

“You’re both to follow me down to the kitchen so I can give you a wash and some breakfast, then we’ll get you dressed in something suitable - what have you done with your dress, Nancy?! You’ve got to keep it clean or Mrs Quigley will have your guts for garters - speaking of which, you’ll both need stockings and then you’re to go to the parlor. Understand?” Seeing as this had all been said at breakneck speed, both girls looked more than a little confused, but they both nodded and followed Lizzie out of the door in their shifts.

In the light, Nancy took a proper look at Maggie. Under the dirt her skin was creamy white and her eyes looked like deep blue pools, even surrounded by the redness from the night’s tears. She really was little, but she couldn’t have been any younger than ten and her hair looked as though if it were washed it might be quite pretty. She thought again how much better any of the other workhouse girls would have done as harlots and slunk behind Maggie as they made their way through the corridors. A man staggered out of a bedroom and looked at them with interest. 

“Fresh ones, Lizzie-lou?” He leant close to the older girl and wrapped his arm about her waist. “I’ll not lose my interest in you, don’t fret. When might I get to meet these ladies?”

Nancy saw Lizzie flinch slightly as she brushed past him, and waited for both girls to pass her before she turned. 

“You’ll have to ask Mrs Quigley, sir. Good morning.” She hurried the girls down the stairs and sighed. “That’s Major Gracefield. He’ll be straight to Mrs Quigley now, he’s got an eye for the younger ones.” Nancy shivered. She knew what was coming, but she was trying her best to keep her mind removed from the reality, however difficult that got. 

Maggie looked mutinous when placed before the large tin bath but Lizzie wasn’t having any of it. 

“There’s no point fighting it, you’ll only get in everyone’s bad books. Take your clothes off or I’ll take them off for you.” 

Nancy took Maggie’s hand and squeezed it, then turned her round and untied the stringy knots that held together the rags she was dressed in. They looked like they might once have been an apron, perhaps combined with an adult’s jacket, but it was very hard to make out colours or patterns beneath the layers of grime. Once Maggie was naked she climbed into the tub with speed, unwilling to let the others see her without clothes, which made Nancy wince for her. Modesty was going to be of little use in Quigley’s house. 

As Lizzie scrubbed the dirt out of Maggie’s hair, another girl, who she thought might have been one of the twins, took Nancy to a smaller bucket and handed her a face cloth. She wiped herself carefully all over, then reached for the gown she’d thrown on the floor the previous night, which Lizzie had gathered up on their way out of the little bedroom. Wiggling into it, she turned to allow the older girl to tie the back and was startled by much larger hands grabbing her.

“Ho! A very little one! Where did you come from, my pet?” The major had slipped into the kitchen and his eyes roamed around, taking a long time over Maggie, not quite submerged in the tin bath. 

Nancy took a shallow breath. It couldn’t be yet. She wasn’t ready. She turned, bared her teeth, ready to sink them into his arm -

“Major! Are you taking a sneaky peek at my new delights?” Mrs Quigley stood at the top of stairs, her skirts filling the space. Feeling sick with relief, Nancy shrank out of the major’s hands and slipped towards the relative safety of Lizzie and the tub, where Maggie still sat, terrified. 

The major turned, unabashed, and bowed to Mrs Quigley. He stepped swiftly up the stairs, and took her arm. 

“I do hope you’ll allow me a bid for at least one of them first? I do so love to be first.” His words reached Nancy and she retched, silently. The door at the top of the stairs closed and she sank onto the wet floor beside Maggie’s bath. Lizzie watched, not unsympathetically. 

“She’ll have you in the parlor this evening. Tonight you’ll be bid for and sold, Mrs Quigley will probably get twenty pounds for each of you. There’s no point fighting them, it only makes them rougher.” She delivered this speech, which made Nancy’s stomach turn, in a monotone that implied she’d given it many times before. 

Cecily - or Anne, Nancy still couldn’t tell - lead her gently to the table. A plate of food was put in front of her and a cup of weak tea pressed into her hands. As she mechanically ate and drank, she watched Maggie being dressed by Lizzie. Her hair, now clean, was a glorious auburn and Lizzie brushed it firmly, before weaving it into a similar braid to Nancy’s, which the twin had redone. Maggie joined Nancy at the table and clasped her hand tightly. An unspoken pact. They weren’t alone in this, however awful it might be.


End file.
